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The Poems of James VI. of Scotland

Edited by James Craigie

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113

28

[O mightie Gods since I with pen and poëts art]

O mightie Gods since I with pen and poëts art
So willinglie hath seru'd yow thogh my skill be small

These two following sonnetts, with the preface, are printed:—


I praye yow euerie one of yow to helpe his part
In granting this my suite which after followe shall.
First Ioue as greatest God aboue the rest
Grante thou to me a part of my desire
That when of the in verse I writte my best
This onlie thing of the I doe require
That thou my vaine poëtick so enspire
As they may surelie thinke all that it reede
When I describe thy might and thundring fire
That they doe see thy selfe in verrie deede
From heauens thy greatest thunders for to leade
And sine vpon the Giants heads to fall
Or cumming to thy Semele with speede
In thunders least at her request and call
Or throwing Phaëton doune from heauen to earde
With threatning thunders make a monstrous rearde.
Apollo nixt assist me to a part
Since thou are second vnto Ioue in might
That when I like describe thy heauenlie cart
The readers may esteeme it in there sight
And grante me als the worlds ô onlie light
Whome on the yeare, with seasons double twise
Doe waite: that so I may describe it right
That so I may describe the verrie guise
By thy good helpe of yeares wherin we liue
As readers sine may saye here suirlie lyis
Of seasons foure the glasse and picture viue
And grante that so I may my verses warpe
As thou maye playe them sine vpon thy harpe.

114

O mightie sonne of Semele the faire
O Bacchus borne by Ioue the God of might
O twise borne boye, who euer does and dare
Subdue all mortall with thy liquour wight
Who with thy power blinded hath the sight
To sume, to others thou the eares haue deaffed
From sume thou takes the taste, sume smelling right
Doeth lacke, sume touching, sume all fiue bereaued
Are of thee, the greate Alexandre craued
Thy mercie oft, our maistre poëte now
is warde by the; we smaller then shall leaue it
To striue with the. Then on his tombe I wowe
Shall be, Here lyis whome Bacchus by his wyne
Hath trapped first, and made him render sine.